Games the Mouse Plays
by GuileandGall
Summary: Siobhán Hawke is protective of those who mean the most to her by her very nature. Of course, it is hard to separate that from her playful nature. Her returns to Starkhaven don't always take the most direct route.


**Summary:** Siobhán is protective of those who mean the most to her by her very nature. Of course, it is hard to separate that from her playful nature. Her returns to Starkhaven don't always take the most direct route.

 **a/n:** This cropped up following a conversation with Joufancyhuh. She is an enabler and manages to ask interesting questions that prompt all sorts of fun distractions like this one.

 **Games the Mouse Plays**

Color painted the skies above Starkhaven as the sun crept lower. As the day waned, so did Siobhán Hawkes energy and patience. The days of travel wore on her as the aches in her muscles pulsed so deep that she felt she'd never know comfort again. Passing through the main gates of the city just before they were shut against the wilds of the darkness brought a nimbleness back to her step. _Nearly home_ , she thought as a sigh passed her lips, bringing with it a relief no amount of hard sleep in the wilderness could manage. The proximity prompted the game to spring to the forefront of her mind.

Since Sebastian's installation into the seat vacated by his murdered father, she had come to know the tiered city well, including which gates were best guarded and which she could pass through unnoticed. Her roundabout passage into the upper rings of the city proved slower than the more direct route she could have taken to the palace. The walls surrounding the keep were thick stone, and nearly twenty feet high. She could not jump them, nor scale them without drawing attention, which was precisely what she did not want.

More than anything, Siobhán intended to surprise her husband. And that would only happen if she could find a way to infiltrate the palace.

At the edge of the square which bordered the main palace gate, she leaned in the shadow of one of the upscale taverns frequented by courtiers. From that spot, she studied the quartet of guards. Two stood stoic on either side of the wide passageway, spears pointed tip to the stars; their hooded gazes gliding over the streets and the people, making note of threats or suspicious happenings. The other two paced a path across the width of the opening and just beyond, swords out and flashing the flickering light of lamps and torches that stole the night from about them.

She grimaced, knowing the disadvantage the brightness put those guards on the ground at, but she also knew that the archers above were at no such impediment and that they, like her husband, could hit the slit in a visor at a hundred paces.

Her mind raced with possibilities and potential plans. The main gate always remained open, except in times of dire threat. So, it could be a possible way into the palace grounds. Of course, she also knew that for every man on the ground, there was likely another, if not two, upon the battlements. She, herself, had championed the posting of two above to every one below and managed to out maneuver the Captain of the Guard in that foray, though she did not know if he ever put it into practice.

If she were to approach through that gate, her distraction would have to be two-pronged to even hint at success. After making her assessment of her chances there, Siobhán hurried away in a throng of people leaving the tavern.

There were other gates that opened into the grounds of Starkhaven Castle. Her position granted her the knowledge that most should be sealed by the time night descended upon the city. Still, she held out an inkling of hope. _Perhaps there is a chance that someone might be late returning._

Certain she could come back to the main gate, she slipped through the dark alleyways at a quick pace that would set her apart as predator rather than prey, at least to anyone in the city with designs on an easy mark. Her cloak fluttered around her legs as she came to a stop just before the mouth of an alley that opened onto a narrow street. The stench of coal and freshly tanned leather burned her nostrils.

Yes, this was the street she sought. The industry in this area of the city built up to serve the army of Starkhaven, though now the barracks on the palace grounds only housed the Crown Guards. Glancing around the corner, she studied the gate. _The open gate._ This would be her location of ingress.

Too often, when patrols lagged on their return to the barracks, this gate remained ajar. Of course, she understood the reasons none saw it as a failure or a chink in the armor of the city-on either side of the lane that preceded toward the keep were barracks, stables, and the training yard of the elite units tasked with the safety of the sovereign, the Prince of Starkhaven, and by extension, herself.

And it was not an entirely flawed thought. Even for someone like her, gaining access to the palace via this approach would not be easy. Of course, she also realized that the longer she took to commit to this choice, the more likely she could be caught in the act. She turned the corner and started walking down the street, like she belonged. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, but too few could pull of a nonchalant, I-own-this-place stroll quite as well as Siobhán; it was a well-practiced skill. As she neared the gates, she caught sight of a pair of guards walking away from the gate. If memory served, they were likely to turn soon and approach from that direction, as their counterparts would be doing on the other side of the wall from the opposite direction.

She walked with haste and purpose across the street, not pausing a moment as she darted through the gate. With a wave of her hand, she cast an illusory spell that muffled her footsteps. When she reached the other side the gate, she broke into a run. The spell silenced the slap of leather that should have accompanied each footfall as she made a mad dash for the line of trees a good seven or eight meters past the gate. If she could make it there without the other patrol or the guards on the battlements seeing her, the game would be hers. Or at least there would be a better than average chance of her surprising Sebastian without being placed in chains first.

Reaching her destination, she pulled up short and hopped behind a tree. Pulling the hood of her cloak back over her head, she leaned past the edge of the tree enough to catch a glimpse of the men in the nearly moonless night. That would help her, but it would also make her more vulnerable to the guards' approach. Save among the trees that edged the walls of the gardens. Her pace slowed as she crept toward the massive edifice of the keep.

Of two minds, she scaled a tree, pulling herself from branch to branch until she could peek over the high stone walls of the private gardens. The manicured rows of hip-high hedges offered far less cover than the orchards, and against the white pebbled paths her dark clothing would stand out. Those faults nearly balanced out the benefits-the rear of the palace offered more points of entrance with far less security. Of course, that was her own doing.

This was not the first time she played this game. After infiltrating the castle from the rear garden, her report to the captain of the guard resulted in a redesign of the garden, one which kept her from taking that route that night, as well as making other more obvious choices of approach. As much fun as it was to sneak into her husband's quarters, each time she managed it, she called a tense meeting with Captain Jarron, the man who led the forces tasked with the safety of the palace, with the safety of the Prince, of the man she loved.

With the thought of Sebastian, her great hunter, her smile curved upward. _Soon, my love._ She sat back on her branch, considering the options present to her. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she swung downward back through the branches. As she neared the ground, she halted, watching any trace of movement and listening for the slightest hint of patrols.

Finding none, she dropped to the ground, soundlessly. A smile quirked the corner of her lips once more to find her spell still intact, though she knew the effect would likely end soon enough. She followed the tree line, keeping near the garden wall where the shadows reached long across the soft grasses of the lawn.

Her heart raced beneath her breast as she crept through the darkness; one hand skimmed the uneven surface of the stone wall with each measured step. The options open to her played through her head, but the way she entered the grounds allowed for fewer options. The hour helped her decide. The servant's entrance—it was typically one of the most overlooked locations in any great house she knew from experience. Sadly, she doubted the house of Vael would disprove that stroke of brilliant thought.

A smile played over her face, even as a sense of frustration accompanied her fruitless attempt to open the door. It was secured. _But how secure?_ That question that remained to be answered. Her tools were in her hand in a blink of an eye. The alcove surrounding the door offering her the security of cover, miniscule as it was. She sighed quietly when the door opened.

 _Far too easy_ , she thought as she slipped inside, her footsteps still muffled. After ensuring the room was empty, she took the moment and relocked the door behind her once more. No need to give away her point of ingress to some hapless guard who might actually be paying an adequate amount of attention.

Inside, the chances of discovery increased several fold. Simply because of the number of people about, and the lit rooms and hallways. Of course, she also knew, by her love's own admission, that Sebastian always increased the guard when she was away. He'd teased her that he did so knowing full well she would attempt an infiltration upon her return, though part of her wondered if that really was the reason for it. Regardless of the why, it was a practice she found no fault with. It allowed her to sleep easier while away, knowing he was well protected in her absence.

Her pace hastened indoors, but not so much to make her suspicious, but creeping through the halls like a thief would draw far more attention than appearing as one of the staff. Her dress and state would not allow anyone she might come across to mistake her for the Princess of Starkhaven, except perhaps Sebastian.

When voices approached the kitchens which she'd just exited, Siobhán ducked into a storeroom just outside the door and tucked herself into a dark corner.

"Do you think the witch will return?" a gruff voice muttered.

A bright, melodic laugh peeled off the stone. "Of course. _The lady_ adores the Prince."

"She's got 'im under a spell, she does."

"Oh, stop it, you old fool."

Siobhán leaned against the wall, chuckling behind her fist which she pressed to her lips. The two passed by the doorway in a flash of earthy color and rustle of wool.

"You've seen it," he said, setting something down loudly upon one of the kitchen counters. "Things popping in and out of rooms. And that squire nearly broke his leg in that dragon incident. I swear it by Andraste herself-it's unnatural." He all but whispered the last word as if it might just call out a demon from the Fade just to speak of her.

There was another loud thud, like wood upon wood. "Have you never seen the difference in him when she's here? He's just joyful. Like he was when he was a boy."

That argument confirmed the woman's identity—Caroline had been with the family since before any of the Vaels of Sebastian's generation were born. She'd known them all since they were babes and had some of the most embarrassing stories about Siobhán's husband; stories she shared freely with the princess. She could almost imagine her brandishing one of her sizeable wooden utensils at the man she spoke to, an image that prompted a warm smile to curve her lips.

 _Alas,_ she could not tarry, even for the chance to hear some tale of Sebastian's boyhood. One which no doubt would have left her laughing and given her presence away. It was definitely best that she continue on her way. She slipped from the room, slithering around the threshold like a snake before tiptoeing down the corridor and out of earshot of the kitchen. She moved through the abandoned dark workrooms of the keep like a shadow. Eventually, the sneaking rogue happened upon the laundry.

It was easy to find a disguise that fit over her traveling clothes. Rather than abandoning her cloak, she folded it neatly to carry it and a few other items with her. She piled her hair upon her head, tying it up with her own scarf. She moved with care once she entered the decorated public areas; the light from the gleaming sconces chased away her friendly shadows. At that moment, she pulled away from the wall. Creeping as she had in the darker areas would draw more attention and scrutiny than her mere presence. She straightened as she neared the landing.

"Did you see that dress?"

"It wasn't the dress I noticed," one young man said as they entered the corridor.

The two of them chuckled raucously. Their mouths sealed as she passed them with a dainty nod. Neither of them even questioned her presence or passed her a second glance. Their laughter picked back up as she moved toward the eastern staircase.

 _So, we have visitors,_ she mused, mounting the stairs. _And pretty ones at that._

Whereas the young men returning the dining room to its usual state were unlikely to see through her disguise, any of the servants in the family's quarters would know her not to be one of their number or know her for her true identity. By her book, that would deem her captured, her game lost. Once she reached the upper landing, her pace slowed, listening for the quietest footsteps and the quietest voices. Hearing none, she moved through the halls.

Depending on their rank, she would have to skirt the rooms lent to their visitors. A fleeting thought flitted through her head as she stood tall, shoulders back, carrying her folded cloak like it was something far more precious than a dusty swath of leather that kept her dry when the weather turned wet or helped conceal her in the shadows.

"I can't fathom it myself."

The voice made Siobhán roll her eyes. Lady Mareen Orrick was known to her. She and the Lord Chancellor visited far too often from Tantervale, or at least that was Siobhán's opinion.

"It is quite shameless. Gallivanting about the countryside, leaving one's husband all alone." That voice she recognized too but could only recall her station as the consort of the viscount of Kaiten not far from the coast.

"Someone should warn her that this is how royal bastards are made," Lady Mareen chuckled. A loud sip echoed through the open door. Siobhán hazarded a glance in that direction.

"Well, I think it is ridiculous. She is the Princess of Starkhaven, despite her _blood_."

The decision came far too easily. With a gentle wave of her hand beneath the folded bunch of leather and a whisper on her lips, the glass that just barely touched the woman's painted lips tipped and she poured a vibrant red wine down the front of her pink gown. _Royal bastard this, you old crone_ , she thought as the woman howled.

"Oh, Mareen," the consort called out.

"Get something, quickly. Oh no. No, no, no, no. My dress. It's ruined." A sob twisted the Lady Orrick's voice.

Another flick of her wrist led to a crash as she turned the corner. _Guess the heel of that shoe couldn't handle all that hot air._ The mage's smug grin fell away when a rush of footsteps neared, and she darted through the first open door. But the room wasn't empty. So, she spun right into the water closet tucking herself and her pilfered skirts behind the door.

"I swear it. It's always the same."

The whisper of brush bristles sang against a smooth surface. She knew that sound well, or at least thought she knew exactly what it was. Carver always polished his boots the same way—a bit of charcoal in some linseed oil and a soft boar brush. He said it was the best way to bring out the shine of the leather and keep it supple.

"How d'ya figure?" another man asked. He stood nearer to Siobhán's hiding place.

"All these nobles like to visit when the lady's out. And they always bring their daughters." The brushing stopped. "Like they really think something's going to happen. I bet you a crown that little miss is in the study right now flashing her milky bosom at the lord."

"It is quite a bosom."

"Psh," the gruffer voice dismissed.

"And his _wife_ does run off quite often."

"The Prince is a man of his word."

"The Prince was a cad."

" _Was_."

Silence stilled the room for a moment. Siobhán imagined the two of them staring at one another while they sought a proper argumentative response to further their positions. Of course, she sided with the gruffer voiced fellow, almost wishing she'd caught sight of his face. Sadly, it was not he who spoke next.

"Do you really think all these ladies pass through here without him taking a taste? Especially when that's exactly what they are here for? Far better men wouldn't pass up the chance to plow a willing filly's fields. You can't convince me the lad's not sowing his oats."

Siobhán's lips thinned, irritation percolating under her skin. Gossiping old women were one thing. But footmen taking bets on whether her husband, the man she loved and adored, was cheating on her at that very moment, that made brought her ire to a fit of pique. She knew Sebastian wouldn't take another to his bed, but the fact that anyone close to him could think him capable of such base betrayal got beneath her usually thick skin.

A loud snapping crackle broke her train of thought as a bright light flashed through the room, lighting up even her hiding spot.

"Maker's balls," the man who had been defending Sebastian called out. Items clattered to the floor, then a rush of footsteps carried the men out of the room.

The mage waited there for a moment, before ducking out. "Well, shite," she muttered noticing the flash of flames outside the window. _At least the bolt of lightning struck outside this time_ , she thought as she reentered the hallway.

The tree she'd ignited on the front lawn drew the attention of most of the staff, allowing her to trek up a floor to the rooms she shared with her husband without incident or the risk of discovery. Of course, the sporting side of her felt that the flaming tree might have been cheating. Then again, it wasn't intentional, she reminded herself as she slipped into their private bath.

"No wonder those boys didn't look twice," she told her reflection. Her face was smudged with dust and she looked affright-dark circles ringed her sleep withdrawn eyes and her lips were chapped almost to the point of cracking. The bowl of water resting near the sink was not for her, surely, but that fact would not keep her from sullying the contents. After she shed her disguise and her traveling clothes, she washed her face and hands free of the dust of the road before soaking a cloth in the icy water and dragging it over her bare skin in the most rudimentary cleansing.

She drew a bit of oil over her lips, noting the scant improvement in her appearance, though she could only wonder if the sponge bath did anything for the scent of the road that likely clung to her skin, even if she might be desensitized to it. Leaning in the doorway between the bath and their bedroom, she considered draping herself across their bed nude to surprise him. The thick blankets were inviting, and she knew they would chase away the chill in the air. His pillows likely smelled of him, a scent that her brain could only barely conjure in that instant.

A soft sigh left her lips as her fingers traced the gold embroidery across the red coverlet. If Lord Chancellor Orrick decided to waylay Sebastian, surely the comfort of their bed mingled with his scent would lull her into a deep sleep. Or so she thought. An impatient huff passed her lips.

 _Surely, the blazing tree should have been clue enough_ , she thought, turning and leaning against the edge of the bed. _He should be here by now, at least to make certain it wasn't me, if nothing else._

The click of the door mechanism caught her by surprise, despite her impudent rambling thoughts. Thankfully, she managed to hop onto the bed and position herself on one elbow in the sexiest pose she could manage before the door to the bedchamber opened.

Sebastian stopped in the doorway, a massive grin overtaking his face and making his aqua eyes sparkle.

"Did Orrick's pretty little daughter polish the royal knob?" Siobhán asked, even as her heart thudded against her ribs at the excitement of seeing him again.

A laugh stumbled past his lips, clearly the Prince did not expect that greeting. Her husband stepped through the door and threw it closed behind him with a slam that resounded around them. "Guess that explains the fire."

Siobhán shrugged, an attempt at an innocent rebuff of the accusation. "Sometimes I still struggle with impulse control. I'll have to apologize to Aric in the morning." The royal gardener would likely be displeased with the damage.

Trace of tension oozed out of Sebastian's tall, lean frame with each step he took toward her. He pulled the chain of station over his head and draped it on the back of a chair. His deft fingers worked loose the fastenings of his tunic with ease. All the while his gaze traversed every bare inch of her skin, leaving Siobhán feeling overheated as her breath quickened.

"After you ream Captain Jarron?" he asked. Sebastian did not delay his approach with anything as trivial as the removal of clothing, instead crawling onto the end of the bed as the fancy brocade laid open to reveal the thin linen shirt beneath.

"Of course," she replied.

She rolled onto her back as Sebastian's body covered hers. Her arms draped over his shoulders when they kissed, soft pecks began to linger until lips parted and tongues met. The weight of him, the warmth of his embrace, the passion of his kiss—it was the best welcome home she could ask for.

"You know, love," he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You could use the front door."

Siobhán pressed a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. "I could, but then I could never be sure you were truly safe while I'm away."

He chuckled at her, his smile dancing in his eyes. "Maker, I love you." Sebastian buried his face in the curve of her neck, covering it with kisses and playful bites that left her giggling and writhing beneath him.

"So, am I to understand there has been a parade of milky ample breasts brought through here in my absence?"

"Ugh, sadly," he groaned

"Sadly?" she chuckled, her fingers carding through his hair savoring the silkiness of it. "Who would believe the legendary womanizer Sebastian Vael to reply thus?"

"His wife, for one," Sebastian teased, pressing a sweet, loving kiss on her lips. When he looked down at her again, the glint in his eye could only be described as rapacious as his gaze flicked downward. "And anyone who's seen the pert, tawny breasts of the Princess of Starkhaven." He filled his hand with one, poising her nipple to be lavished by his tongue.

Her laughter brightened around them again, her fingers threading through his auburn hair as he sucked that tightening peak into his mouth. Siobhán gasped, savoring his lavish attention. Her fell back and her eyes closed as the tip of his tongue traced circles over her puckered skin. The pressure of his suckle brought her attention back to him. The tired ache of travel had been fully replaced with a different kind of thrum that pulsed through her veins.

"I've missed you, Bash."

"I dreamt of you every night." He thrust himself upward, his lips crashing against hers, his tongue plunging past her lips in a claiming gesture she welcomed. She embraced him tight, pressing her whole body against him as a wanton tingle sparked from her core and alighted across every nerve. His erection jabbed against the valley of her hip and confirmed the raw honesty behind his claim. "I'm glad you're home."

There was an unspoken question lingering in his gaze when he looked down at her once more. One she chose to answer, "The Seeker seems to have given up for a time." It hinted at but did not definitively confirm that she would remain at his side there in Starkhaven.

Sebastian relaxed against her a bit more, leaning his weight on the elbow that dug into the mattress near her head. Her fingers coiling in her deep brown hair. "The Divine has called for a Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the Frostback Mountains."

She nodded at first, a tension threading through her muscles at the implication she read into his announcement. "And has she requested aid from Starkhaven?" One of her hands tangled in the back of his tunic, as if she could somehow anchor him there in case the answer was not what she wished to hear.

"Not as yet," he told her.

Letting out the breath she held, Siobhán sank back into the blankets on the bed with a trace of relieved ease.

"But a selection of mages, the templars from the Starkhaven Circle and a delegation from the Chantry here will be heading out in a few days. Along with one of our ambassadors."

"You aren't planning to join the pilgrimage?" she asked.

A few times since they wed, he mentioned wanting to visit the temple, but never made the trek. This seemed like the perfect moment to do so, except for the fact it would rip him out of her arms just as she finally returned home.

"No, not this time." His smile and the way he looked at her told her she was the reason for that.

"Good," she replied, pressing a soft kiss on his mouth. "Maker, I love you. And I've missed you so much," she said, the words escaping her lips like a prayer.

"And I you, but you smell of horse." He wrinkled his nose at her. "How about I have a bath drawn for us, Mouse?"

Siobhán pouted at him a moment as he pulled away and held a hand out to her. "That could be nice, Pussycat. But you're going to scrub my back."

"Not to worry. I intend to bathe every single inch of you and spend the next day feasting on every inch of you," he said, his mouth hot on hers.


End file.
